


when the walls come down

by lacecat



Category: Black Sails
Genre: (kind of), Alternate Canon, Canon-Typical Violence, Falling In Love, I mean this could happen because I dream big but also probably AU, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Sad with a Happy Ending, Season 4 Spoilers, lowkey Flint/Silver/Madi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-16
Updated: 2016-11-16
Packaged: 2018-08-31 07:44:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8570182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lacecat/pseuds/lacecat
Summary: Silver couldn’t pinpoint the moment when it happened, but after all, when one looks back, one cannot anticipate the future, and Silver is nothing but a pragmatist. But he did know, in however fleeting moments, how it progressed. How he and Flint were two ships hurtling towards each other on the same wind, how only one would survive the impending collision.





	

•••

 

Silver couldn’t pinpoint the moment when it happened, but after all, when one looks back, one cannot anticipate the future, and Silver is nothing but a pragmatist. 

 

But he did know, in however fleeting moments, how it progressed. How he and Flint were two ships hurtling towards each other on the same wind, how only one would survive the impending collision.

 

Maybe it was after their conversation over the embers of a fire, the darkness shrouding their faces, but still not enough of a cover to conceal the truth. After Silver had looked into Flint’s eyes, when Flint told him of the man in whose name he was still taking painful breath after breath for. After Silver had stared at the dirt trapped under Flint’s nails from burying a treasure that was so much more than gold in a box, after Flint had looked at him in the firelight and had seen something more, something beyond his knowledge then. 

 

Maybe it was after the battle, when the redcoats had bled from the teeth of monsters, pirates, and slaves, after the beast had finally snapped and managed to draw blood. After they had gazed at each other across a lake, the bodies piled up around them, Flint’s eyes far too honest for the words. After Silver had realized that the winds around them were in his favor, and the first time the thought came to him, a bitter taste in his mouth, that their mutual understanding didn’t mean that they could avoid ruin. 

 

Maybe it was before all of this.

 

 

•••

 

 

Maybe, after all, it was after Silver had nearly died. As he was dragged underwater by the rope around his calf, he thought to himself, _Isn’t that ironic, that this water that has fueled my ambition will now be the death of me_. 

 

He remembered the last time he had been pulled underwater, when he had dived in after Flint’s limp form, pulling him onto a beach where they faced mutiny and sure death, and then they had somehow survived, made it to where they are now. 

 

Above his head, Silver could still hear the faint sound of cannon fire. Around him, the water was filled with debris, much like the wreckage that was currently dragging him into the cold depths beneath the battle that raged on. 

 

_So this is how it will be_ , he thought to himself, _This is how it will end, not in smoke and blood, but in water and darkness._

 

But he had lived. In a final struggle to get free, his peg leg had broken off and sank to the bottom of the sea, letting him float away.The redcoats had been too preoccupied chasing the pirates away from their shores to notice a single man wash up on the beach and steal away inland. 

 

He had made his way back to the island two weeks later on one of the British sloops, makeshift crutch jammed under his arm. He’s lucky a storm didn’t pass through and sink his small vessel while he was navigating through the islands. 

 

Even though it’s early in the morning, news of his apparent survival spread like wildfire, and there’s a small crowd gathering around Silver as he hobbles into camp. 

 

Madi is the first to greet him, parting the crowd to reach him. As she embraces him, her lips are surprisingly soft against the side of his bruised neck. He kisses her back, feels her soft but firm hands on the back of his neck. 

 

There are more footsteps. He opens his eyes to meet Flint’s stunned look from over her shoulder.

 

Flint’s mouth parts slightly, but he doesn’t move towards him at first. Madi releases him, her sharp eyes looking between him and the captain, and with another touch to Silver’s arm, she leaves. 

 

Silver says nothing, steadily watching the captain. Flint closes his mouth again, and he gives a sharp nod. “We thought the worse,” he says, taking a step forward, and Silver swallows, a part of him irrationally annoyed that there is an audience to their reunion, that Flint is obviously restraining himself. 

 

“Lost the leg,” Silver tells him, but Flint’s eyes don’t flicker down to his leg. 

 

“You were missed,” Flint replies, then reaches a hand out. Silver grasps his forearm in return, and Flint’s other hand comes up to hold his elbow. The touch is thrilling- Flint is not one for casual gestures of intimacy- and Silver takes another step so that they’re closer, just because he nearly died, he can.

 

“I’m here now,” he says, softer, and Flint’s hand squeezes his elbow before they step apart. 

 

“Report to Howell now. Madi and I will inform you of recent developments afterwards,” Flint says. 

 

Silver watches him walk away.

 

 

•••

 

 

 

The developments are what Silver expected. In the battle, they had lost one of their ships, and the men had suffered heavy casualties. Silver had known that it was a massacre even before he was thrown into the water. It’s been a turning point- before, they were hopeful for the outcome, but now it seems less and less likely. 

 

After the battle, he discovers that Teach, Anne Bonny, and Jack Rackham were separated from them. The optimist would say that they regrouped, hence their lack of contact, but Silver suspects that they had decided to cut their losses and were likely following their own plan by now. 

 

They had known going into this war that victory was to come at a heavy price, but as Silver scans the list of the dead, the current supplies list, he knows the inevitable conclusion, even before Flint or Madi can say a word. 

 

“They haven’t attempted pursuit since we escaped that day, why don’t we see that as a good sign?” Madi asks, her legs crossed where she’s sitting in the chair across from Silver’s. She’s changed, too, in the past few weeks, becoming more confident in her position as a charismatic leader. For her expected lack of naval battle experience, she makes up for it in asking the right questions, especially of Flint, whom Madi had correctly gauged from the first time they met as the expert in naval strategy. 

 

Silver wonders sometimes why more of their crew haven’t pieced together Flint’s naval background before. It’s never been brought up in their gossip, despite Flint’s stubborn navy mannerisms (the careful stance, the crisp stride) and endless knowledge of British methodology. Of course, perhaps they are wary of bringing up any connection between Flint and England- the man has, after all, given many speeches in which he makes it very clear that he would love nothing more than to watch the entire empire burn. 

 

Flint shifts his weight to his other foot, arms behind his back. “The only reason they haven’t come to this island is because they know they can strike at us at any time,” Flint replies. 

 

Silver knows the next part of what he’s going to say. _They know that we are losing this war_. 

 

“What are we going to do?” is what he asks instead. “Just wait for them to come to us, to blow us away in our sleep?”  


 

Flint glances at him. “We send out scouts to monitor their approach, while we gather our forces. We wait until they’re sending their ships, and then when they make their final approach, we go around the island-” and he traces a path on the map, light glinting off the ring on his finger, “-back to their fort.” 

 

They’re both taken aback. “To Nassau? They would just follow us and trap us there.” Madi says, her tone skeptical. 

 

“And from what you’ve told me, we certainly don’t have the manpower to stage a direct attack!” Silver interjects.

 

“That’s why we don’t stage a direct attack,” Flint says, as he positions pieces on the map to illustrate his plan. “They would send a large enough portion of their fleet. I suggest we take the opportunity to get behind their lines. Going around the island would allow us to pick up a northern wind that would let us leavewhile they’re trapped in the west.It would be risky, and we would be leaving this island undefended, but it would also allow us the opportunity to get into the interior of Nassau.” His fingers hesitate over one of the larger pieces, before shifting it to the bay. “Billy’s garnered a small force on the island. From there, we meet, then take it to the streets of Nassau, take over the fort.” 

 

“What’s to stop us from being decimated from their cannons when we approach Nassau, let alone the ships guarding the harbor?” Silver asks, his eyes studying the map. 

 

“We’ll take heavy fire, but some of the ships will be able to make it if we hug the coast behind the line.” Flint hesitates, and that’s when Silver knows that the plan is beyond dangerous. “We arrange our remaining ships so that half protect the other half.”

 

Madi stiffens slightly. “You suggest we sacrifice half- more than half- of our men, our ships, to get some of the men onto the island.” 

 

“I do,” Flint says. “Rogers expects us to confront on the ocean, not by taking such risk to get to Nassau. He’s arrogant, and still underestimates the work that Billy and the others have done with your reputation on the island. We would have a day to take over the forts before the ships arrive, and I believe that that’s enough time for us to solidify our standing on Nassau.” 

 

“Our losses will be _catastrophic_ ,” Silver emphasizes. “There will be no regrouping if we fail. What you’re suggesting-”  


 

“I know what I’m suggesting,” Flint snaps, then mediates his tone. “It’s the only way. We will need you to convince the men of this plan.” His gaze meets Silver’s, and they stare at each other for a tense moment. 

 

_Convince the men that half of them will certainly die, but it’s in their best interest._ Silver swallows, breaking eye contact to glance at Madi. “I suppose you agree with this?”  


 

Madi’s face is drawn, but she nods. “The captain is right. We have come too far to just wait for them to attack us here. But captain,” and Flint looks at her, “What of the women and children we leave behind on this island?” 

 

“We leave them some protection, but not much. If- when we get to Nassau, and are successful at staving Roger’s men away, we send ships back for them.” Flint doesn’t bring up the other outcome to the scenario, even as it looms over all three of their heads like some grim specter. 

 

Silver stands up, haltingly, as he reaches around his chair for his crutch. Both Madi and Flint’s hands twitch, as if to help him, but thankfully they do not move. “Right, then,” he says, flat. “I suppose I’ll be the one to tell the men.” 

 

He turns and leaves the room, feeling the urge to scream bubbling up in his throat before stifling it, striding out of the room before either can stop him.

 

 

•••

 

 

 

The next day, he’s hitting a practice wooden post with a sword when Flint finds him again. 

 

Silver hears him approaching, but continues to slice at the wood, wincing as one of his blows overextends and he’s forced to clutch onto his crutch to avoid falling. They haven’t spoken since in Madi’s quarters, with Silver readjusting to being in the camp, and also subtly avoiding Flint. Perhaps not as subtle as he assumed, given Flint’s crossed arms at the moment. 

 

“You should learn to avoid putting weight on the crutch,” Flint observes, from where he’s leaning on another one of the posts. “Anyone you fight will know to use that as your weak point.” 

 

Silver doesn’t bother to glance at him, continuing to hit at the post with vicious strikes. “Easy for you to say, you’ve still got both of your legs,” he replies. His leg is beginning to ache, but he’s determined to practice until nightfall, captains be damned. 

 

The quartermaster can practically feel Flint studying the side of his face. “Apologizes. I only mean to assist,” is what he says instead, to his surprise.  


 

Silver raises a brow. “I’m still getting used to the crutch,” he admits. “I can’t believe I fucking miss the peg leg.” 

 

“I’ll ask Howell if it’s possible to make you another before we set sail,” Flint says, and Silver burns a little inside, stops hitting the post.

 

  
“No. I should get used to the crutch. Besides, we need all the metal we still have if we’re to dive into the jaws of the beast,” he shoots, an ugly part of him enjoying the way Flint’s brow creases more. 

 

They glare at each other, until Flint draws his sword from his belt. Silver blinks, briefly surprised, before Flint motions to an open grassy space and starts to walk there. “I’ll help you correct your form,” he says, instead of replying to Silver. 

 

Their swords hit with a satisfying clang, and Silver keeps space between them. He’s hesitant until Flint begins to drive him back, and he starts to go on the offensive, even using his crutch to block lighter blows from Flint’s sword. 

 

Flint is a good fighter, but Silver knows all of his tells by now, and he keeps his footwork deliberately simple in order to keep his weight off the crutch. 

 

Flint, to his credit, doesn’t say anything beyond instruction on where Silver is vulnerable, grunting as Silver even manages to slice his shoulder a bit once. They continue sparring until the sun is low on the horizon, when finally, Flint stops, relaxes his stance. 

  
“You’ve gotten better,” is what he says instead, resting his sword against one of the posts. 

 

Silver lets his own sword drop, wipes the sweat from his face. His beard and hair have gotten long and heavy in the recent months, and for a moment, he’s jealous of Flint’s shaven head, missing feeling the cool breeze on his own scalp. 

 

“Not good enough if I’m to fight in your upcoming battle,” he says, just to make Flint stiffen at the mention. 

  
“We’re fighting a war,” Flint replies. “We knew that it would come to this. We knew-” 

 

“What we knew,” Silver cuts him off, “Is that there would be a cost. It didn’t mean sacrificing everything just because you think Rogers has you backed into a corner.” 

 

“Why are you against me in this?” Flint snaps then, the flush high in his cheeks more anger than from their physical exertion. “Why do you treat me with such contempt?” 

 

“What do you fucking mean?” 

 

“This plan is by far the only chance we have at making it out of this war, and you of all people should understand the sacrifice that is necessary in this undertaking!”

 

“You think- you think I’m just arguing with you for fun, is it?” Silver hisses, turning to face him. Flint’s fists are clenched. “I know what you meant by this plan. I also know that it requires a ship that will stand steady, to lead men into certain death. Do you plan to put me in charge of that ship?”  


 

“No, I-”  


 

“Do you plan to put Madi in charge of that ship?”  


 

“Of course not-”  


 

“Mr. DeGroot then? Teach, should he fucking show up?” Flint glares, stony. “No, you mean to put yourself on that ship, send yourself to your fucking death, lead the charge right into the broadsides of Queen Anne’s forces, then.”

 

Silver takes a moment to take a deep breath, as Flint doesn’t deny it. The anger is still blooming hot in his chest. 

 

“I thought we were past you stomping into your inevitable death. Apparently that’s always in the cards for you,” he says, a final blow that gives him sick satisfaction to see Flint wince, and turns to walk away. 

 

“Who else would you suggest, then?” Flint’s voice cuts through the space, and Silver stills at the sound. He sounds wrecked, but Silver doesn’t- _can’t_ \- turn around. “There is enough blood on my hands.” 

 

“We both have blood on our hands. I’m sure you can find someone else,” Silver says coldly, and walks away without looking back. 

 

The winds shift around him as he stalks back into camp, as if they too are uncertain.

 

 

 

•••

 

 

 

That night, the thought of his conversation with Flint eats away at him, as much as he tries to shift his mind to other pressing concerns.

 

Now that he is alone, however, the only thing he can picture is Flint dying, to his numb horror. When he closes his eyes, he can only picture Flint, bloodied teeth and pained snarl etched onto his face, clutching onto his bullet-ridden chest as he laid dying on the worn deck of a ship. Or Flint, chin defiant in his final moments, Rogers signaling one of his men to slip a noose around his neck and force him to walk off the edge-

 

Silver turns in his bed, swearing softly as his stump brushes up against his leg. The night is too hot to use a blanket, and the material rubs uncomfortably against the base of the amputated limb beneath him. The pain is welcome though, as it distracts him from more grisly thoughts. 

 

For a moment, he wishes that Madi was there beside him. They have shared a bed before, due to their mutual attraction and the fact that when one was fighting a war, one took comfort in human pleasures if at all possible. But the instances of them being able to slip away together have become rarer and rarer due to their obligations. Even tonight, she had been busy with scouting reports, and Silver was alone for the night. 

 

Trying to do anything to keep his mind from wandering to darker thoughts, Silver recalls the last time they were together. He reaches a hand down into his trousers to grasp at himself. He pictures how her thighs wrapped around his head, the sounds she made while he was on his back, watching her grind above him, his hands stroking up and down her thighs, calluses catching on smooth skin. 

 

The memory is vivid, and it does well to distract him. Silver lets the images wash over him, growing hard in his hand, and works at himself with quiet pants. He remembers how her dark skin glowed enticingly in the candlelight, the image she made riding, her legs framing his hips, and his hips begin to stutter as he remembers the sound she makes when she comes. 

 

Then he pictures startlingly sharp green eyes behind her, pale freckled arms reaching around to grasp both at her hip and on Silver’s abdomen. He can vividly imagine Flint kissing her shoulder, then Flint sinking to his knees in front of him to finish him off, his eyes fluttering shut as he takes Silver into his mouth-

 

Silver bites down in surprise as he comes all over his hand, his vision darkening. When he’s able to catch his breath again, he stares up at the wooden beams that form the ceiling, exhaling softly before sleep washes over him.

 

 

 

•••

 

 

 

The next morning, as Silver makes his way into Madi’s quarters, Flint doesn’t waste more than a nod at him before he’s off to confer with DeGroot on the status of the ship repairs. He strides out after casting another look to Silver, almost too quick to be noticed. 

 

Silver watches him leave, an unsettled feeling in his stomach. When he turns back to face Madi, her eyebrow is slightly quirked, and she’s looking at him, but her gaze is intense as if she’s thinking of something- or someone- else. He knows that look- he’s seen it before, on Flint, on Eleanor Guthrie, on Teach- it’s the look of someone who has realized that there are additional pawns in the game that need to be accounted for. 

 

He looks at her for a moment, until her eyes sharpen to focus again on him fully. “Is there something you want to say?” Silver says.

 

“The captain isn’t going to be on the front line,” Madi says evenly. 

 

He tries not to let surprise bloom on his face, answering instead, “He said that?”  


“No, I did,” Madi says. “If it were up to him, he would likely be on the front lines. I told him that he’s more useful to us surviving the initial slaughter.” She pauses. “I will never trust him in the same way that you trust him so deeply. But I trust you, and so I will trust him. Believe me, he will not be on the front line in this battle.” 

 

Silver studies her face. In a rare moment of speechlessness, he doesn’t know how to say that it’s not trust that runs between him and Flint, that it’s understanding of one’s darkest thoughts, running deeper than any measure of trust. 

 

Instead, he asks, “However did you get him to agree to this?” 

 

Madi smiles, but it’s not a kind smile. “You are not the only one who can be persuasive, John Silver. How have your men taken news of the plan?”  


 

 

•••

 

 

The men, for the most part, take Silver’s word as the ultimate truth, so they readily accept the information he gives them. The ones smart enough to realize the long shot that is the battle don’t say anything in deference to his authority, and those who don’t are smart enough to take Silver’s word at face value about the importance of their cooperation. 

 

The group of men around him disperse as Silver sends them away to prepare for the upcoming days. He watches them go, picking up his crutch so that he can walk and clear his head.

 

He remembers a time in the past in which he was stunned by the power he had over these men, the way his voice bent their wills as if he could see into their hearts. The blood on his hands has gotten thicker, but he is not surprised at his capacity in this way, instead feeling that familiar rush of power, that greedy craving to do more. Silver stamps down on the feeling, remembering Flint’s warning from that night so long ago.

 

He’s still in camp, having skirted the edges between the huts and the forest, and then he sees Flint in the background. The man is crouched, inspecting several of the guns and equipment laid out in the sand. He makes no acknowledgement of Silver as the dark haired man approaches him. 

 

“Madi convinced you,” is what comes out of his mouth, and Flint glances up, but doesn’t get up immediately. “How?” Silver persists, looking at the side of Flint’s face as if he can compel him to give a full answer. 

 

Flint slowly rises, sets down a box of powder. “She reminded me of a promise that I made. Not that she knew about it, but her words reminded me of another’s. Yours.” 

 

He’s hesitant with his words, so Silver doesn’t push him, instead silently willing him to continue. Flint spins one of the rings on his finger, a slight movement that captures Silver’s attention for a moment. The sight of the dark metal spinning around Flint's long, freckled fingers (deft, yet strong fingers) makes him swallow slightly as he remembers where his imagination took him the previous night. He looks away.

 

“She said,” Flint says, now looking right at Silver, and he meets his eyes again, “that you and I work better as partners than against each other.” He takes a step towards John, his arms now by his sides. “Words I do remember you telling me.” 

 

His heart thuds in his chest. Silver is aware at how close they are then. He can see a few faint freckles, ones he hadn’t noticed before, that dot the top of Flint’s left cheekbone, and he can see that his eyes have a touch of gray on the bottoms of the irises, a murkiness that upsets the green of his eyes. 

 

“She’s an intelligent woman,” Silver says then, when it’s clear that Flint is waiting for him to respond, evidently not expecting Silver to get embarrassingly lost in his eyes. 

 

The captain huffs a laugh, his eyes still so close to Silver’s. “Always the humble one, Mr. Silver,” Flint says with a quirk to his lips, and Silver’s eyes flicker down-

 

Then they can hear shouting. Flint’s hand goes to the pistol on his waist before one of their men- Dooley- skids out from the brush, Silver spinning away from the other man as well to face him. 

 

“Captain! They’ve spotted Queen Anne’s Revenge in the distance. They’ll be upon the island in half an hour.”

 

 

 

•••

 

 

Silver never thought he’d be happy to see Teach in person, but it’s turning out to be a surprising several days, after all, he reflects as he and Flint march to the beach, Madi behind them. 

 

The wind around them has died down to the point that each stroke of the oars of the boats headed to the beach breaks the glassy surface of the water. They watch as the first of the boats touch down on the sand of the beach, the crew men jumping out with ropes. 

 

Rackham and Teach get out readily, but Anne takes a moment longer, always the cautious one, a hand on her belt from where she’s positioned behind Rackham. 

 

Teach nods once at Flint, his eyes steely. “Flint.” 

 

“Teach,” Flint acknowledges with no more warmth, then turns to Rackham and Bonny. “We assumed you had left.” 

 

“Captain Flint,” Rackham says, “With all due respect, so did we. Mr. Silver, we thought you dead.” He holds out a hand, and Silver clasps it. 

 

“You’re not the only one,” he responds. “What are you doing back here?” 

 

“To help finish this for once and for all,” Teach says. “We need to talk. The situation has changed.”

 

 

 

•••

 

 

 

To find out that Nassau was in a state of rebellion was not surprising. What was more surprising was the fact that the supposed leader of the uprising was none other than the queen of the brothel herself, Max.

 

“And this Max,” Madi says, and Silver realizes that they have never in fact met, an odd oversight on his part, “Is she as integral to Nassau as they are saying?” 

 

The question is directed at Flint. “She is. Her influence surpasses that of anyone else on that island,” he replies. “The fact that she has turned from Eleanor Guthrie and Woodes Rogers is indicative of a turning tide. We now have another voice on the inside. This can only help our plan.” 

 

“Your plan, to go back to Nassau,” Rackham says, narrowing his eyes, “It would have an infinitely better chance if we were to assist.” 

 

Silver slants him a look. “It would. But I must question your motives. Why did you abandon us after the battle?” 

 

Rackham gives a thin smile. “Everyone in this room knows that it was a lost cause. We thought you dead, Mr. Silver, and you are an integral part in keeping the men focused on any goal. What we didn’t account for, however, was Max to to be persuaded to join our side after Rogers tried to halt her business.” His eyes flicker to Anne Bonny, who’s leaning against the door frame. _Ah_ , Silver thinks to himself. _It’s not purely business that drove Max to go against Rogers, so it would seem._

 

Anne looks at him right in the eye at that moment, as if she could read his thoughts. Silver meets Anne’s flat stare unflinchingly. 

 

Flint speaks. “Did Max say when the governor plans on sending his ships here?” 

 

“They’ll be here by tomorrow morning, most likely. I suggest we ready the ships for Nassau.”

 

 

 

•••

 

 

 

For the night before a battle, the mood is remarkably calm. Stoic, perhaps, in face of the upcoming day. The men busy themselves with readying the ships on the abbreviated schedule. 

 

Once Madi dismisses him, Silver finds Flint again at dusk, sitting in the sand. The wind is gentle now, making a low whistling sound as it dances off the water, and he drops down next to him, laying the crutch down as well.

 

They watch in silence as the orange sun sinks into the horizon, the last rays of light illuminating the water. 

 

Flint’s brow is creased when Silver turns to look at him. 

 

He wants to ask him, to say something, but doesn’t, can’t bring himself to break this peace between them. He looks at Flint’s profile, still dimly lit by the setting sun, until the man turns his head to face him as well.  


His eyes are silently searching into Silver’s, and they stay like that for minutes, or perhaps just seconds. Flint’s brow is still furrowed, like Silver is a part of a puzzle he’s been studying forever, but never quite figures out how to solve. 

 

He wonders if this is what love is, if it comes from the same destructive place as hate, as fear, as want. 

 

Flint’s mouth opens slightly, as if he’s about to speak, and Silver stops him by putting a hand on his thigh, his fingers splayed slightly. 

 

Flint’s mouth closes, and if anything, his brow furrows more, continuing to look right at Silver. He doesn’t pull away, either, even as Silver slides his hand up more, making sure there is no doubt in his intention. 

 

He leans in, then, and can feel Flint exhale, shakily, on his breath. Then Flint’s pulling away, suddenly, walking away without saying a word, and Silver is left alone in the sand.

 

 

 

•••

 

 

It wouldn’t be a good thing for them to be involved. Silver knows that. Their relationship is complicated, powerful, breathtaking- and introducing anything more to the table wouldonly spell out disaster, ruin. Two ships colliding. 

 

He remembers when Flint told him about Thomas Hamilton, that night before their first battle against England. He remembers Flint’s face, raw with emotion at this lost love, how he had held something perfect in his hands and it had been stolen, torn away from him.

 

He remembers Miranda Hamilton, with her sharp, dark eyes, how she in turn had ruined Flint after her death, creating an empty shell of a man. 

 

He also remembers the wretched pain on Flint’s face when he cradled Hal Gates’s body, moments after killing the man he saw as a close friend, a partner.

 

Silver didn’t know what was worse, being another person to be ripped from Flint’s side, causing him more agony, or going through the range of emotions, as he was sure to go through if Flint were to die. 

 

It wouldn’t be a good for them to be together.

 

 

 

•••

 

 

But John Silver is not a good man.

 

 

•••

 

 

He marches right into Flint’s quarters, the tiny hut that’s illuminated by a single lamp in the corner. “We weren’t done,” he states, calm, as Flint looks up, stunned, from where he’s sitting on the small cot, a bottle of liquor in his hand.

 

“Silver-” 

 

But Silver doesn’t let him say anything else. “Do you want this?” he asks instead, harsh, his fists clenched by his side. 

 

“We can’t,” Flint says, agonized. “I can’t-” 

 

“Do you want this,” Silver repeats, and something flashes in Flint’s eyes.

 

“John,” he says, and Silver’s hands are shaking, but he makes himself go across the room. Flint stands up as he approaches, setting down the bottle. 

 

“Do you,” he manages to get out, before they’re kissing.

 

Flint’s mouth is warm under his, tastes like the wine he’s been drinking. The kiss is desperate, as Flint’s teeth drag over his bottom lip carefully, and Silver tilts his head further, stepping closer until they’re pressed up against each other.

 

 

 

•••

 

 

 

On the bed, Flint draws him into another kiss, and Silver thinks to himself, _If this is a collision, I wouldn’t mind being the wreckage_. His hands scrabble over Flint’s ribcage, bringing them closer together, and for a while, he can concentrate on the dry drag of Flint’s mouth against his own, the way their bodies press together, move together impossibly close, as if they can seek harbor in each other’s arms.

 

 

 

•••

 

 

“When I thought you were dead,” Flint says quietly, from where he’s stretched out besides Silver, “I made the plan to go to Nassau the moment we left the ship.”

 

Silver turns to look at him, sweat still drying on his chest. “You didn’t tell Madi?”  


 

“I would have done it with or without her approval,” Flint says bluntly. “That would be of no consequence to me, whether she provided her men or not.” 

 

“You would’ve died.”

 

“I know,” Flint says.

 

 

 

•••

 

 

 

They make it to Nassau, narrowly avoiding Rogers’ fleet, and hightail it across the sea. The men are tense during the entire voyage, as they’re fully aware of the destruction that faces them once they get to Nassau, and the ensuing battle. 

 

With Teach’s help, a few of the ships creep around the coast. The volleys of cannon manage to take out two of the ships as they approach, but both their ship and one of the other ships, both filled with men ready to fight, are able to make it to land where they are to approach Nassau by foot. 

 

Silver can still hear the screams of the men who went down with the two ships, and the sound echoes in his ears even as they make it to land. 

 

Only when they get to land, when they march inwards, they are met by Eleanor Guthrie. Silver draws his gun, even as two dozen regulars file out from behind her.

 

Eleanor herself wears a grim expression. But Silver knows she can make the calculation, that her force outnumbers theirs, and that she has nothing to fear. He grips the pistol, even though there are muskets pointed towards him. 

 

“You are to stand down and be arrested and tried under Her Majesty’s law,” she says in a clear voice, “Captain Flint.” 

 

“Where is Woodes Rogers?” Flint says in a rough tone. “Why has he sent you to lead his men?” 

 

“Woodes Rogers is dead,” Eleanor Guthrie says, and Silver’s mind begins to work. 

 

“By whose hand?” Flint demands. 

 

Her eyes flicker to his, her mouth tightening into a thin line. “Max. Teach. Yours. Does it matter? Another governor has died in Nassau. I won’t repeat myself. Stand down.”

 

The men beside her tense, ready to shoot.

 

Flint lifts his chin defiantly. “I think we both know how this ends.” 

 

Then there is chaos. 

 

Silver ducks instinctively as the first shot rings out, the first volley of fire. He attacks one of the regulars coming up to him, his blade slicing the soft flesh of his leg, crutch tripping another. 

 

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Flint dodge another shot, tackling the man to the ground. The man underneath Silver manages to kick his crutch out, so he falls on top of him. Silver wastes no time in wrapping his arms and breaking his neck, rolling to avoid being stabbed by another one of the soldiers. 

 

It’s a dirty battle, using guns, knives, and fists. Silver gets up, runs another man through with his sword, and he looks back just in time to see Rackham, Anne and Teach enter the fray with their men, having just landed on the beach. 

 

Then he looks back towards his captain, just in time to see the regular in front of Flint shoot him right in the chest. 

 

There’s a dull thudding in his ears as he watches Flint fall. He’s not aware of it, but then he’s moving forward.

 

The regular is no match for him, caught unaware, as Silver slits his throat. Blood splatters the dusty ground, Silver’s clothing, but it doesn’t matter. 

 

He’s falling down next to Flint, pressing down on his shoulder where scarlet blood is flooding out. 

 

Flint’s eyes, impossibly wide, are looking at him, shock on his face. He coughs, and the blood pulses weakly out of the wound. “Ssss-” he tries to speak, his hand coming up over Silver’s. 

 

“I’m here,” Silver says. “Don’t-” 

 

Distantly, he can hear Rackham yelling, and then there’s silence. Silver looks around, desperate, only it seems that Eleanor Guthrie and her men are retreating, and the rest of their side are in pursuit.

 

Flint’s hand drops, then comes up over Silver’s again, fingers scrabbling on the back of his hand as his eyes roll back in his head. 

 

“No, no, _James_ ,” Silver repeats, pressing down on his shoulder more. “Come on, we need to get you- get you out of here-” 

 

He hoists Flint up so that he’s partially in his lap, as the man gives a low groan. “Come on,” Silver urges, trying to keep pressure on his shoulder as he lifts him more. “Not like this, you bastard-” 

 

“I need help!” he screams, then, and jolts violently when who other than Anne Bonny comes into his vision. 

 

“Jesus,” she says, her eyes widening at all the blood. 

 

“Help me with him,” Silver pleads, and she doesn’t waste another second, hoisting Flint onto her shoulder. Silver hobbles after them, not even processing where they’re going until he realizes that they’ve reached the interior, and Anne’s kicking down the door to the Barlow house.

 

They lay Flint out onto the dusty table in the front room, and Silver presses down to try to stop the bleeding. “Bandages-” he says roughly, and Anne presses a wad of cloth into his hands. 

 

The bullet seems to have gone right through his shoulder, but Flint’s lost a lot of blood. His pale face is drawn, his head lolling to his shoulder, and Silver presses down more, as if his hands can bring life back into his body. 

  
Anne watches him. “I’ll get a doctor,” she says, strides away and out the door. Silver finishes bandaging his shoulder with shaking hands, then sits in a daze, still clutching onto Flint’s arm. 

 

Flint is too still on the table. 

 

“No,” Silver breathes out. “This cannot be the end of Captain Flint. You don’t get to do this to me, you bastard-” and he realizes he’s crying, that there are tears rolling down his face. 

 

Anne comes back after an undetermined amount of time, bringing with her Howell, who looks ashen-faced to see Flint lying on the table, or perhaps it’s that there are tear marks down Silver’s face. 

 

He tests for a pulse, adjusts the bandages that Silver put on. Silver knows what’s coming before he even opens his mouth. 

 

“He’s lost a lot of blood. It won’t be long, now,” Howell starts. Silver looks up at him, and the doctor visibly takes a step back at whatever’s in his eyes. 

  
“Leave,” Silver says, his tone devoid. Howell takes one look at his face and steps away, not bothering to leave bandages. 

 

Anne looks at him too, and something in her expression shifts. “I’m sorry,” is what she says, but Silver doesn’t acknowledge her. 

 

She, too, leaves quietly after a while.

 

Silver watches Flint’s chest rise and fall, the movement so small that he doesn’t dare look away lest he forget the sight.

 

“I love you,” he says, as if that could change anything now. 

 

 

•••

 

 

Silver pushes open the door to the brothel. Anne stands when she sees him, soon followed by Rackham, Teach, and Max. 

 

“Eleanor Guthrie is dead,” Teach says. “Where is your captain?” 

 

“I am the captain,” Silver says. It’s true. 

 

No one brings up the blood on his clothing.

 

 

•••

 

 

After he left the Barlow house, he lit it on fire. There was no use in it, now. No use for a temple to the dead.

 

 

•••

 

 

There is no funeral for Captain Flint, like there was none for James McGraw. 

 

Sometimes, Silver thinks it fits, in a poetic sense. 

 

 

•••

 

 

After that, the siege on Nassau is over. Eleanor Guthrie and the governor were dead. Max and Rackham take on the most immediate positions to govern Nassau free from British rule. 

 

Teach leads the naval force, and Anne, as ever, is the faithful shadow to Rackham. Billy rejoins the crew, along with his men. 

 

The death of Flint has a massive impact on Nassau. His death mythicizes him, and that is likely the only reason they are able to maintain order on the island. Silver controls the narrative, but it hardens his heart as he spreads tales of James Flint. 

 

The British must hear about his death, because they never come back to take over Nassau. Perhaps they use his death as a mockery of pirates, perhaps they see it as a suitable end to their monster- or perhaps they never cared that much about Nassau in the first place. 

 

Nothing- and yet everything- has changed.

 

Silver makes it back to Maroon Island, where he reunites with Madi. He’s a different man from such a short span of time. She still sees him, loves him, and for that he is grateful. 

 

As captain, he is vicious, brutal, efficient. They bring in by far the most haul for Nassau.

 

It works, until it doesn’t. Billy usurps his captaincy, in a chain of events he should have seen coming, but doesn’t. He makes it to England with Madi, where he hears tales of Captain Flint dying from the drink in Savannah.

 

If only it were that simple.

 

 

•••

 

 

He’s an old man, if not in age, but by lifestyle. This latest mission, going after the gold, was supposed to be simple, but of course, it doesn’t work out that way. 

 

The young boy, Hawkins, looks wide-eyed and fresh. Silver remembers when he first joined the pirate crew, and he sympathizes for the boy.

 

But then it ends, and he goes back to England a wealthy man. They have far enough money now to live out the end of their days, and he looks upon the sea with weariness now. It feels like a suitable close to this chapter of his life. 

 

Madi has aged far better than he has, the life of an innkeeper much kinder than that of a sailor, and she looks at him up and down with still sharp eyes. “You’re leaving, aren’t you,” she asks. “It’s time.” 

 

They never had children, by chance. He wonders if that’s why he liked Jim Hawkins, if he was acting on some far-fetching paternal instinct. 

 

He doesn’t answer her, but boards the first ship the next morning. 

 

 

•••

 

 

As the ship nears the coast, he strains his eyes to study the hills. It’s no Nassau, but La Florida is lush, with great tracts of isolated land. 

 

He makes it inland, making do on his crutch. Now that he’s had years of experience walking with it, and it’s natural, replacing his limb with the wood. 

 

He follows the rumors he hears, of an isolated home up in the hills. He sends a prayer to the heavens that night, in a broken-down inn where they barely glance twice at his missing leg, and sets out the next morning.

 

The wind is surprisingly cold considering the balmy weather. He pulls his jacket closer around him and continues to walk.

  
Eventually, he sees a light through the thick shrubs. Silver makes his way to the house, carefully tucked away. It’s perfect for him.

 

He hesitates before knocking. What if-

 

But the door opens, and there he is.

 

Silver drinks the sight of him in. The past decade has done little to fade the rusty color of his hair- but now it was long, longer than when they first met, the beard trimmed close to his jaw. 

 

His eyes are surrounded by fine lines, but they’re no less sharp, and still that green color with bits of grey swimming at the bottom of his irises. 

 

“I’m glad I found you,” Silver says. 

 

“I’ve been waiting,” Flint replies.

 

 

•••

**Author's Note:**

> written because I'm emotional about Black Sails. and the impending season 4. 
> 
> this was going to be my prediction about season 4, but it sort of veered off course to a less tragic ending because I just couldn't do that to myself (esp. when there's a 99% chance that something tragic will happen in canon ok)
> 
> hit me up on tumblr @ wherehavealltheflowersgone (follow back/like from @starrynighttrek)
> 
> title- "Walls", Kings of Leon


End file.
